


I Hope That You Burn

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Bring tissues, More angst, RIP, i'm the worst, mostly angst, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: Henry is positive that Alex is cheating on him.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 146





	I Hope That You Burn

Alex is running late. Alex is always running late these days, though––always going from class to meetings to the library or something like that. It’s his last year of law school and Henry knows that, of course, Alex’s priority right now is graduating and taking the Bar and looking for a job after he finishes up with school. Henry is thrilled for him, of course, and actually finds the whole thing pretty manageable since he’s spending his own time at the shelter or writing. They’re both working––he gets that––but, as he said, Alex is _always_ running late.

It’s not an anniversary or any such occasion, but they’re supposed to have dinner tonight at this place that opened up a few blocks from the brownstone. It’s a nice place––the kind that provides jackets to those who show up underdressed. The lighting is low and romantic and Henry has already ordered a bottle of wine for them to share, but Alex still isn’t here. He was seated twenty minutes ago, got the wine around ten minutes after that, and Alex hasn’t even texted him to let him know he’s running behind. Normally, Alex is pretty good about texting Henry when he’s running behind. He’s addicted to his phone so, unless it dies or he gets far too caught up in school work, he always texts. But Alex hasn’t texted him tonight and, of course, this isn’t the first time. Alex hasn’t been texting him much recently. Alex isn’t home much recently, either.

Henry tries calling him again but his voicemail box is full. He decides to call June instead, figuring that she might know where he is. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, Henry,” she says. There’s the sound of something moving in the background and low voices that he can’t quite make out. “What’s up?” 

“Do you know where Alex is?” Henry asks, too upset to really think of making small talk or pleasant introductions first. He needs to know––he just needs someone to tell him that Alex is holed up in the library or something. 

“Uh,” she says. There’s a pause. “No. Why?”

Henry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “He was supposed to meet for dinner over twenty minutes ago,” he says. “I––I just wanted to see why he was running late.”

“You know how he is,” June says, as if it makes this any easier. “He’s probably just…stuck in the library or something.”

“I don’t think he is,” Henry admits, recalling that, five minutes ago, he checked Alex’s location and saw that he was not in the library. He’s still in New York, and sort of near campus, but it’s not a place that Henry recognizes at all. He’s on a street of thousands in the city and it’s a street that Henry doesn’t recall being mentioned. It’s entirely possible, he thinks, that Alex is at a friend’s house to study or something––he likes being quizzed on terms when exams roll around, even if he already knows all of the information. It gives him peace of mind, Henry thinks, to know that he’ll ace his tests.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” June says.

Henry can’t help but roll his eyes. “I don’t doubt that he’s fine,” Henry argues, “I’m just wondering what could be important enough to miss this. We’ve been talking about this restaurant for ages––he was actually _excited_ to come here. It was his bloody idea.”

June sighs on the other end. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, sounding tired. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he lies, his free hand clenching around itself, “have a nice evening.”

He hangs up and sets his phone down on the table. The waitress comes back over to ask if he wants to order anything.

“Just the check,” he says.

He walks home with his head hung low. He swears that everyone around him knows exactly what’s going on––he swears that they see him alone and know that he’s been stood up for about the hundredth time. He tries to brush it off––this sort of thing happens from time to time. It shouldn’t be happening _this much_ , though. The problem is that he doesn’t know what changed––why, just a few weeks ago, Alex suddenly decided that Henry was no longer a priority in his life. Why Alex has decided to practically avoid him. Why Alex won’t just fucking _talk_ to him.

He gets home and sits on the sofa without bothering to change. David comes and puts himself on Henry’s lap, obviously aware that he’s in need of some cuddles and comfort right now. It’s all well and good to have David here to calm him and love him, but he desperately wants his boyfriend to be here, too. The whole point of living here together was so that they could actually _be_ together. And, recently, Henry feels a lot like he did back when the world had no idea they were together––he feels alone and miserable and so lovesick that his heart actually _hurts_.

Alex comes home a few hours later––Henry’s already watched four episodes of _Bake-Off_.

“You look nice,” Alex notes, dropping a kiss onto Henry’s cheek before he goes to set his bag down and pour himself a drink. 

“I should hope so,” Henry huffs, pulling his knees up to his chest and watching as Alex pours himself a whiskey. “I had reservations at a very nice dinner place tonight.”

“Oh,” Alex says, not paying much attention, it seems, “that’s nice. Pez back in town or something? We should have him over.”

Henry nearly growls in frustration. “It was supposed to be a dinner with _you_ ,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down.

Alex comes over and sits down next to him. He tries to touch Henry but Henry moves away, not wanting to be comforted by his so-called boyfriend right now. David will do just fine––David doesn’t stand him up.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Alex offers, his voice gentle and seemingly apologetic. “I forgot that was tonight.”

“You’re always forgetting these days,” Henry mumbles. “What were you even doing?” 

“I had a…meeting,” Alex says, taking a sip of his drink. 

Henry narrows his eyes. “What kind of meeting?”

Alex makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You know, the usual. Anyway, how was your day? How was the shelter?”

“I don’t go to the shelter on Tuesdays,” he says, knowing that Alex knows this, too. Tuesdays are for other things––writing, mostly, and video calls with Bea and his mum. He _never_ works at the shelter on Tuesdays––it’s written down on their shared schedule. 

“Oh, right,” Alex hums, taking another sip of whiskey.

Henry stands and pulls David up with him, holding him firm in his grasp. “I think I’ll take David for a walk,” he says. 

He wants Alex to say he’ll come with him. He wants Alex to ask him to stay––he wants Alex to do _something_.

“Sounds good,” Alex says, his focus on the television. “Have fun.”

When Henry returns, Alex is in the shower. His phone is charging on the nightstand by his side of the bed––it’s right next to the framed picture of one of their official portraits––one of the ones in Hyde Park.

Henry doesn’t know how those two lovesick fools became _this_. He doesn’t understand how he got from there––the happiest moments of his life––to this sad, pathetic man left staring at a picture of the life he thought he’d have. A man who wonders what kind of secrets Alex’s phone might have buried inside.

He shakes off the feeling for now. He puts his itching hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out, unlocking Alex’s phone, and crossing some sort of line. He won’t be _that_ person. He won’t violate Alex’s privacy just to put his mind at ease.

The phone buzzes.

A quick glance at the message won’t hurt.

**Grace:** It was good seeing you tonight. Next time, let’s cut right to the chase. You know I’m not one for pleasantries.

Henry is left blinking at the message. His thoughts are racing a thousand miles a minute in his brain as he tries to figure out what this _means_. Is this…Alex wouldn’t…

“Hey,” Alex says, emerging from the foggy bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, curls wet and amuck.

“You have…a text,” Henry says, quickly moving to the dresser to pull out a comfortable shirt to change into.

“Oh, thanks,” Alex replies, walking over to the nightstand and looking at his phone. Henry changes silently, trying to hear Alex’s reaction to the text. Maybe Alex will apologize and tell Henry that this is all just a big misunderstanding. _Please_ let it be a misunderstanding.

“Who’s it from?” Henry asks, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

He hears Alex put the phone back down on the nightstand. “Just June,” Alex says.

Henry’s heart and stomach drop through the floor. He swallows nervously. He knows it’s a lie––he knows that text isn’t from June. He knows that Alex is hiding something from him––he knows…

What _does_ he know?

He knows nothing.

He knows something is wrong and that Alex is lying, but he doesn’t know _why_.

He goes to sleep that night and dreams of a news headline––he dreams of Alex running away with this woman and that, when Henry looks into the mirror, there’s a hole in his chest and his heart is bleeding and spent on the ground in front of him. Alex comes back and takes it with him––says it’ll make a nice conversation piece in the home he shares with _her_.

Henry doesn’t get much sleep that night.

A week later and the tabloids have caught on.

_FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz Spotted With a Mystery Woman! Who Is She? Read This Exclusive Tell-All!_

Henry doesn’t say a word about it. He packs his things. He writes a note. He leaves. He takes David with him. Takes the picture on Alex’s nightstand. He’s going, going, and gone.

***

Alex,

I am reminded, of course, of one of the greatest songs of our time: “Burn” from _Hamilton_. Do you recall this? We saw the show together in person and then again when it was available to stream. Even in the theater, even from such a great distance, you asked me why Alexander Hamilton wasn’t with John Laurens––you said that the tension and chemistry between them was undeniable. I understood your point, though I’ve always been partial to Eliza. A strong, independent woman in such a time who knew exactly what she wanted in life and stopped at nothing to have happiness? I thought it certainly sounded better than a torrid love affair that ended with both of them dying at such vastly different times––of having to live your life without the person you loved, as you claimed was the case with Hamilton and Laurens, the most.

Alexander cheated on his dearest Eliza. It was not with Laurens, though I do not doubt they certainly shared moments of their own, but with a woman who propositioned him on the street. I was heartbroken at the sight of him, Alexander, cheating on the love of his life. When she went to the garden and burned their letters, I wept. You held me, though I do not think you understood quite why I was crying. You told me it all worked out in the end. You told me…You tried to make me feel better about it all, I think. You pointed to Eliza in the final scene and reminded me that, through it all, she still loved him. 

Am I your Eliza, Alex? Am I the one who must put everything on the line just to have my heart ripped out and sent bleeding because of your affair with this woman? I admit that I don’t know much about her, only that you text her frequently. She does not like pleasantries, I know. I saw the text. So let _me_ , Alex, cut to the chase.

Do not attempt to contact me. You will find that I am now unreachable to you. Throw your rocks at my window, make your apologies. Cause a scene. I do not frankly care what you do so long as you know that, unlike Eliza, I will not forgive you for this indecency. You stole your way into my heart, Alex, and now I find myself making do without it. You have, in essence, ruined love for me. You’ve ruined _everything_.

Was it worth it, Alex?

You’ve torn it all apart and now I’m watching it burn.

***

Henry doesn’t talk much anymore.

Henry’s doesn’t _do_ much anymore.

Kensington seems like the best place for him––he’s always been miserable here.

It’s been three days since he left. One since Alex stopped calling him or texting him. He never read the texts or listened to the voicemails. They sit in his phone which is exactly where they will sit for the rest of his miserable life. He risked _everything_ for Alex. He threw himself into the frontline and took bullets for their love. His grandmother doesn’t speak to him. Philip just glares. He risked everything for Alex and _this_ is what he gets for his efforts? This silence? This heartache? This torture and pain and misery? He should have never have been so foolish as to fall in love, especially with a mad comet like Alex. A man who will very clearly never be satisfied, even with everything good before him. A man who always wants to take more than the world can give. A man whose smile made Henry ignorant to the darkness brewing at the heart of him. The vile stench of evil masked with Alex’s cologne.

People knock on his door sometimes but he doesn’t know if they come in. He’s been starting at the same spot on his wall for days now. He hasn’t slept, he doesn’t think. He isn’t really sure. It’s hard to be sure when he doesn’t even think he’s _living_ anymore.

There’s another knock at some point. He doesn’t have the energy to tell them to go away.

“Henry,” a voice says.

He doesn’t look at it.

It’s familiar, he thinks. A woman. He isn’t sure.

“Henry,” the voice says again.

The person moves right in front of him, blocking the spot on the wall. He meets their eyes. It’s Bea.

“Henry,” she says once more. “There’s someone here to see you.” 

Henry says nothing.

“It’s Alex,” she says.

He closes his eyes.

“I want you to talk to him.”

He takes a deep breath. 

“He’s––He’s _miserable_ , Hen. I’ve already spoken to him and…I want you to see him.”

He bites his lip. His eyes are still closed. 

“I’m going to bring him in here.”

He inhales.

“You need to talk to him. Just hear him out. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He counts to five.

“You know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

He exhales.

“This will be good for you. Believe me, I nearly kicked his arse until I heard what he had to say. I’m going to bring him in here, okay?” 

He opens his eyes and she’s gone. Maybe she was never here in the first place. 

“I want to show you something,” a familiar voice says.

It’s the voice of the devil––Henry has heard it before. He’s heard how it lies and cheats. He knows not to believe a word it says. 

Alex is standing in front of him. He looks miserable. Henry smiles a bit at the sight of it.

“I want to show you Grace,” he says. He pulls out his phone and holds it out to Henry. Henry frowns and looks down at the picture in front of him. It’s a woman with grey hair and big glasses. She looks… _mean_ , he supposes. Maybe Alex has a type––maybe he likes the whole enemies to lovers thing.

“She’s sixty-three years old,” Alex explains, his voice broken and tired.

“Older woman,” Henry croaks. “How lovely.”

“She’s a lawyer, too,” Alex explains. “Though it might be generous to call myself an actual lawyer.” 

Henry frowns. “Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” he says. “Lawyers are heartless, aren’t they? I’d say you’ve done an excellent job thus far. Might be one of the best in your field.”

Alex manages a weak chuckle before he falls to his knees in front of Henry and starts sobbing. Henry isn’t sure that this is really happening––he still feels like this is just another nightmare or dream or something. He isn’t sure which one.

“I would never hurt you,” Alex cries. “Henry, you have to know that. You know I would––you’re it for me, baby. Don’t you know that?”

Henry takes a deep breath. “I thought so,” he says in a broken whisper. “Once, perhaps. Then you…why are you even _here_?” 

He remembers, he thinks, telling Alex not to bother with this. He put his heart on paper and left it for Alex to find. He gave away every part of himself and watched Alex put them in a pile and set them on fire. He has nothing left to give––there’s no part of him that Alex’s hasn’t accessed and subsequently destroyed. 

“You’re the worst,” Alex tells him, lifting his head and staring at Her with big, wet eyes. “An obtuse fucking asshole.” 

Henry’s mouth drops open. “I beg your pardon?” he says, shocked. “You flew here to _insult_ me and––”

“I wanted to _propose_ to you, you ass,” Alex tells him.

Henry frowns, not understanding.

“Grace is a lawyer,” Alex repeats. “We met up and texted because I needed to know what I needed to do in order to propose to you––if I even _could_ propose to you.” 

Henry is at a loss for words. Does Alex really think that Henry would _marry_ him after cheating on him like this? “You cheated on me,” Henry whispers. He hasn’t said the words out loud yet. It feels like hot led on his tongue. 

“I didn’t,” Alex says, another sob coming out. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you––she’s married, and not even interested in men, by the way, and she was helping me.”

“Why did you need help? Why not just ask me to marry you?”

“Because I’m––I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know how the Royal laws and bullshit would play into everything. So she helped me through it––helped me figure out the protocols and talk to the people I needed to talk to. And now…” he gets down on one knee ad removes a small box from his pocket. “I want to marry you. I can––we have permission. I had this whole thing planned out but then…anyway, I mean it. I’ve always meant it. You’re my forever, Henry.”

Henry doesn’t realize he’s crying until tears fall down into his lap. “You didn’t cheat on me,” Henry cries, smiling a bit. 

Alex laughs, too, and wipes the tears from Henry’s cheeks. It feels so good to feel Alex’s skin against his own once more that he feels like he might just break down completely right now. He’s missed Alex, despite everything.

“I would never cheat on you,” Alex promises. “You’re it for me. You’re the only person I’m ever gonna want.” 

“You’re it for me, too,” Henry whispers in agreement.

Alex smiles. “H, baby, love of my fucking life, will you marry me?”

Henry wants to nod––wants to scream that yes, of course, he will. Instead, he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he realizes. “I––I thought you cheated on me. I doubted and––”

“Hey,” Alex says, taking Henry’s hand in his own. “None of that, okay? I tried too hard to hide it from you––I get that you doubted me. And I wish I could do it differently…I just wanted you to be surprised when I asked you. But it’s not your fault, H. It’s never your fault. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Are you sure?”

Alex nods. “Yes, of course, I’m fucking sure. Will you marry me?” 

Henry nods. “Yes,” he says. He falls to his knees in front of Alex and wraps his arms around him. “Yes. I love you and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I love you,” Alex repeats, “and I’m sorry I made you doubt me.” 

Henry shakes his head and, for the first time in a few days, presses his lips to Alex’s. 

Alex, the man who loves him. 

Alex, the man who didn’t cheat.

Alex, the man he’s going to marry.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for this on tumblr..hope it's okay!


End file.
